


Beautiful as the Stars

by Malind



Series: The Hearts of Kings and Princes [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Battle of Five Armies Aftermath, Father/Son Incest, Implied Possessiveness, Longing, Love, M/M, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-25 22:18:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6212338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malind/pseuds/Malind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the Feast of Starlight, Legolas wants to be alone, but his father wants him to join their kin for the night's celebration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during the Hobbit movie, before Legolas observes Kíli and Tauriel talking. I see him as finding her to seek comfort after this story, even if he would reveal nothing of what transpired to her.
> 
> Endearments are in Sindarin Elvish with ()'s around the translations the first time they're used (I also have them all listed at the bottom). If you think any of them are wrong, feel free to correct me. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: The Tolkien characters and universe are owned by Tolkien Enterprises. I make no profit from this fanfiction.

The air cradled by the balcony walls was warm, still. The only hint of breeze played in the thin clouds drifting under an untold number of bright, twinkling stars. The stars seemed to pulse in time to the distant soft music and singing flowing through every hallway and open room.

With his hands laced over his belly, watching the stars make their steady, but utterly slow shift, Legolas laid on the stone balcony, ignoring the chill of it in favor of the warmth blanketed over him. His black formal long coat, pants, and knee-high boots, and white undershirt helped keep him warm as well.

This night was Mereth Nuin Giliath, the Feast of Starlight, to honor the circles of purity Legolas couldn’t take his eyes from. Stars were Elbereth Gilthoniel's gift to the gods and to the world. The first elves had awoken to the stars, for the sun and moon hadn't existed yet. The elves counted their months and years with the stars and plotted their destinations by them. They were infinite, and yet born like memories. But after stars' creations, over time, they proved to be predictable, unlike memories and, in turn, the mind.

The elf prince was being rather unpredictable himself that night. He supposed to be elsewhere, taking part in the feast with his kin. And he was always with them each year to celebrate, wherever they were, whatever land his family currently ruled. He was supposed to be singing, laughing, drinking, and creating new memories but couldn't help but be stuck in old ones.

The darkness of recent events, as well as the caged dwarves in their midst, both drained his mind of his happiness. On top of that, his father wouldn't share with him what he knew. And based his cryptic words, Thranduil knew a lot.

The king used to share everything with his son. Or so it had seemed.

When had things become so complicated between them? Legolas wasn't even sure. But it pained him when his father seemed like he was driving everyone away, including him.  Especially him. The pain was excruciating, but the older elf didn't seem to notice. And Legolas tried to act like he didn't notice, even through his own often-spoken abrasive words when he should have bit his tongue.

But why would his father, the overprotective elf that he was, want to drive him away?  For all of his son's commitment and unquestioning loyalty, well, for the most part, his father seemed to think Legolas' relatively young heart laid elsewhere.

_Does he not realize my heart has always lain with him?_

The elf blew out a breath at the thoughts and refocused on the stars, naming them as a distraction from his mind, to lose himself in them and their stability and perfection... But the constant drifting songs kept driving him back to where he was supposed to be.

Then a new sound made him turn his head to the entryway. Walking slowly, steadily up the stairs, he saw first the red leafed crown, then his father's blonde hair, his pale face and piercing blue eyes which immediately latched onto his own face.

Legolas found himself holding his breath, but he didn't bother to rise. Centuries before, when he'd been but an elfling, he'd often laid like this, his father's laying at his side, holding his hand, as they both looked to the stars.

The elder elf could name every single star that had a name as if he was reciting their alphabet. Centuries before, it been thrilling to hear the elf's warm voice speak them into the night, long past his bedtime. Even now, he knew he could point to any one and hear its name and history if it had one among their people.

The prince let out his breath, realizing that perhaps he in fact laid there with the hope that his father would remember those times as well. Would remember being close to him.

When the large elf stood a few steps away from him, observing him, his hands clasped behind his embellished-robe covered body, his brilliant hair shining in the star and moon light, the elf said quietly, emotionlessly, "You're being missed, iônneg (my son)."

Suppressing a sigh, the younger elf looked back to the sky, knowing his father merely wanted him at the feast, not alongside him. "Am I, adar (father)?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father look up as well, turning his head a bit to take in the night. "Do you remember their names?" At the words, Legolas refocused on his elder's face, startled. "I said them so many times for you; you must have memorized them."

"I know them." The sides of his mouth curled up a bit. "But I always preferred to hear them from your lips."

Thranduil turned his full attention back onto his son whose smile balked. But then his father smiled. It left Legolas breathless since he could tell it was a real one with the warmth in the elf's eyes. He wished he could grab a hold onto that warmth, onto him, since it would soon vanish.

Sure enough, it was gone along with the smile as his father's crowned head tilted to the side. "You look..."

Legolas found himself holding his breath again for several seconds until it was obvious the Thranduil wasn't going to continue. "Look like what?"

"Like happiness eludes you."

_Very observant, after so many years of not noticing..._

And his father wondered why Legolas sought out friendships with others, even those below his station. Friendships which Thranduil went so far as attempting to dissuade. Thankfully, he didn't outright forbid them, as that would surely drive the final wedge between them.

The prince closed his eyes. "I  _am_  happy, adar. Just not tonight."

The balcony went silent, even as tension blared, as the seconds condensed into a minute, then two.

"You remind me so much of myself at your age, Legolas, when I hadn't yet been king. It almost pains me."

The younger elf huffed, a coarse sound. "We're nothing alike."

"You truly believe that? Perhaps we have different goals, ambitions, but that cannot change the fact that I see myself in you." When Legolas only ground his teeth, he whispered, "You think that a bad thing?"

Ignoring the questions, not wanting to think, Legolas blurted out, "Why are you here, adar? If it's to have me 'celebrate', allow me to remain here. Whoever is missing me will soon be too drunk to care either way."

"And if  _I_  am the one?" If that was the case, drunkenness wouldn't be happening. His father rarely drank more than sips, just to enjoy the flavor of his exquisite wine, and never got drunk.

If his father was the one who wanted him there...

Legolas' stomach clenched. He tried to not show it with his body, although surely his voice betrayed him as well as his words, when he said, "Do  _not_  say that to me, not this night. Keep this night pure and truthful."  

Even if the prince himself could not.

"Iônneg..." A few seconds later, Thranduil strode forward the few remaining steps until he stood by the younger elf's torso, looking down at him with something Legolas couldn't put a name to. A moment later, the king came down to sit on the stone floor in one graceful movement, his legs folded to the side towards Legolas' feet, one hand supporting his weight near Legolas' head, while the other curved over his own lap.

His father had always had a penetrating gaze. That moment was no different. And at that moment, the prince found he couldn't deal with it like he'd been doing for centuries.

Instead, he closed his eyes and let his elder stare, if that was what he was going to do. He wasn't about to stop him since the closeness of him felt too good. Way too good, when he felt the barest hints of fingertips touch his cheek. His breath picked up and his heart stormed blood through his body.

Perhaps this was why distance was between them. Without sorrow, a father and son weren't supposed to be this close after thousands of years of life, outside of perhaps a quick embrace or the depths of heated battle.

A breath more than a whisper, Thranduil said, "Meleth e-gûr nîn (love of my heart), when did we become like this?"

Surely his father  _was_ drunk. Other than cruel torture, only that could explain those words, a mirror of what he'd been thinking these past hours. His father wasn't being rational, nor himself. He didn't profess love, not since Legolas had been young and his mother had still been alive.

The king had a kingdom to rule and his own desires to fulfill. Desires which used his son as a tool, as they did every other one of their kin, even if, underneath, Thranduil loved every one of them as his own.  

_But look at how he treats his own..._

Legolas pressed his lips together and forced back tears. "Have mercy on me, adar. Please. Just let me be this night."

The fingertips left his cheek. He almost thought that would be the end of it, that his father would leave him alone with his misery. But then softness caressed his mouth, feather-light, before the softness pushed down. His eyes flashed open to see his father's head at his own, eyes closed, his lips surely being what touched him in a kiss. Long locks of hair flowed off the elf's back and fell upon Legolas' bare neck and the sides of his face.

And against his lips, Thranduil sighed, "Meleth nîn (my love), iônneg... This was never what I wanted."

Legolas' mind couldn't place the words. Never wanted what? For them to be like this? To touch him like this? It surely wasn't a desire to not love his son with the same love Legolas burned with for him.

Trying to control his breathing, the younger elf lifted a vaguely trembling hand off of his belly and placed fingers at his father's cheek.  Then, eyes re-closing, he kissed back, just a slight movement of his lips.  The older elf pulled away, eyes open and flickering over his face, searching. When he did, Legolas opened his eyes as well, his heart thudding.

His father looked...  Like he was going to run.

To hopefully calm him, Legolas whispered quickly, "Gerich veleth nîn (you have my love), adar."

Did his king, his father, the keeper of his heart have even the slightest clue how true those words were?  Did Thranduil understand why Legolas never married, never took lovers, except when he'd been younger and overly distraught at the loss of seemingly both parents?

The words didn't calm his father.  In fact, it was the opposite, as the king stood and withdrew with long strides. 

Perhaps Thranduil did now have a clue and realized everything in his son's heart.  Finally.

When he could no longer see his father, he said, pained, "How could you not have my love, ada (dad)?  Ci bain sui in elin (you are as beautiful as the stars)."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iônneg - my son  
> Adar - father  
> Meleth e-gûr nîn - love of my heart  
> Meleth nîn - my love  
> Gerich veleth nîn - you have my love  
> Ada - dad/daddy  
> Ci bain sui in elin - you are as beautiful as the stars


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place at the end of the movie, after the battle is over.

_I cannot go back. I cannot go back to him._

In what amounted to fleeing his father, with the battle between so many races over, and his father's words about his mother's love already fading to a cherished memory, Legolas chanted the mantra in his head, striving to live up to the resentment and cynicism for his father which churned about in his gut like molten steel. For days, since his father had banished Tauriel, those words had worked in keeping him away from home. A minute before, saying them to his father's face, they'd worked again.

But now his father was walking towards her.

There were times it was unwise walk away from a friend. Perhaps, a minute before, that moment had been one of them, no matter how lost Tauriel had been in her sorrow, not once reaching out to him.

Really, he shouldn't have walked away from her. But seeing her in her grief, knowing what had been between Tauriel and that dwarf... She'd embraced the fact that she'd found love in someone so removed from their people and, days before, had been willing to be banished for that love. A lesser soul, with no love but for itself, would have fled straight back to his father, the king, begging for forgiveness and favor.

And the prince understood her love more than he cared to. Despite that understanding though, he couldn't stop his irrational jealousy at her fight, her strength.

But, in defense of his own irrationality, her love had also been returned by the dwarf, unlike Legolas' father for him.

With every torn apart memory and emotion inside of himself, he wished he could control his own heart. Or rip the stubbornly beating thing out of his chest, since any ill-conceived control obviously wasn't working. Surely it was better to die than to feel this way.

Why couldn't he simply love his father how a son was supposed to? Love Thranduil as his father loved him?

What he felt for his father, the stabbing love and the irrational longing and desire, were things destined to only cause him insurmountable grief. His love could never come to be anything more than it already was.

His heart... What a wretched thing it was. And, unfortunately, he didn't have the strength to rip it out.

After turning the corner, removing himself from his father's gaze, he didn't make it to the next turn before he stopped and pressed hands against the dilapidated stone wall, trying to breathe normally even though his heart hammered more now than it had the entire battle. He knew he should go back to her and get in between them, to protect her. He wasn't afraid for her in the physical sense, but rather for her mind. She'd been distraught enough. Add his father into the mix...

Legolas knew far too well how cruel his father could be to someone he cared nothing for, let alone someone he loved.

Nonetheless, he didn't move for nearly a minute until his breaths finally became haggard. Then he charged back down the narrow, suffocating stone wall hallways, over strewn about with debris without a sound despite them. If anything, they would sense his presence long before they heard him.

And then, near where he'd left her, he heard his friend's mournful voice say, "If this is love, I do not want it. Take it from me, please. Why does it hurt so much?"

What his father murmured stopped him dead: "Because it was real."

The prince could scarcely believe the words had come from his father lips. First words of love about his mother and now this? When had his father become so understanding of love? Certainly not days before when Thranduil had left him alone on that balcony after a similar declaration of love from his son.

And the younger elf had thought he'd been jealous before. The whole of his body stiffened until he could barely breathe.

"Your banishment is over, Tauriel. You may come home when you wish it."

Then he saw the shadow of his father come back into the hallway, and then the elf himself as he turned the corner. The elder elf stopped a few feet away. His penetrating gaze took in Legolas' face. His father looked as stiff and as calm as ever. Legolas, on the other hand, could barely contain everything inside of him that threatened to explode.

His eyes threatening tears, his mouth opened, but he couldn't even manage a rational thought, never mind it working its way to his mouth.

"Iônneg..."

Legolas didn't know what this was between them.

It wasn't feelings of betrayal. Could kissing back days before really be betrayal? And his father had already forgiven him for leaving with Tauriel, only wanting him to return home. On his father's end, the older elf done nothing but act how his position and their way of life required him to.

It wasn't regret. The younger elf couldn't control his emotions; so how could he regret them? He could hate them, mourn their pointlessness, but not regret them. And his father obviously didn't even have the same passions for him.

This was... him just wanting something he couldn't have.

Swallowing, tears finally did come to his eyes. He refused to blink and risk them spilling down onto his cheeks. Instead, he turned around, and wiped the hideous things from his eyes with his battle dirtied hands, surely smearing lines onto his face with dust and dirt.

"Meleth nîn, you -"

"Please," was all Legolas could manage before he stormed back down the tunnel, escaping how he should have in the first place when his father had given him an out, telling him to travel north.

He only made it a few steps though before the taller elf caught up to him and grabbed his wrist. He tried to yank his hand away, but his father had always been stronger than him, and apparently, at that moment, Thranduil was also more determined than him. At Legolas' fight, his father shoved him up against a wall, knocking the breath out of him, holding them there by his upper arms.

Yes, he could have fought harder, brought out his daggers, or merely used his body. But this person was his father. He loved him. And, outside of any further complications, Legolas just wanted his love in return.

"Have I truly treated you so wrong, iônneg? Why do you run from me?"

"You would ask me that?" Legolas looked up at him with beseeching eyes, trying not to balk at the hardness in Thranduil's own eyes. "Why did _you_ run from me? You... I-I _am_ sorry for what I did, what I said. I never meant to force you away from me, more apart than we already were."

"Legolas..." A hand released him and fingertips touched his cheek. Legolas stopped fighting completely at the touch, his breath hitching. "Do you not understand? I cannot force myself upon you."

"What are you talking about, adar? Forcing yourself?" Enraged again, confused beyond all measure, the younger elf couldn't help his tearful half-laugh, before he blurted out, although his voice remained low as to not draw Tauriel's attention, "And what are you doing right now? Let go of me!"

Instead of doing that, ignoring the hissed demand, Thranduil whispered, "I kissed you. I..."

Light blue eyes blinked at the words. Was his father regretting kissing him? While it had been odd, a normal kiss between them being something brief and careless, Legolas had attributed any oddness to his own state, his own thudding heartbeat and desires. He'd never truly thought his elder was doing anything more than comforting him. So that his father would regret it...

Legolas didn't want to think on it, as it'd give him irrational hope. Surely the kiss being something special wasn't what his father had meant. Nor could hope be what Thranduil wanted him to have.

Despite the confusion of who'd done what, trying to prove to his father that any unease _had_ been Legolas' own fault, he whispered, "And I kissed you back."

The taller elf searched his face, the hand at his cheek cupping it before weaving back into his hair to grip it. "Please, iônneg, forgive me. Somehow I put ideas into your head I never meant you to have. I never wanted..."

Legolas couldn't help but think that his king was confessing love. But surely he was wrong. He had to be wrong. To confirm that, he breathed out, "Never wanted what?"

"I never wanted you to want me, not in the way I want you." The hand gripped harder, bringing pain, causing the prince to cringe slightly. "Forgive me... May your mother forgive me."

The words couldn't be true. Not after so long. After so many years, centuries of the near opposite. Not after pushing his son away with nearly every breath.

Was this why Thranduil had withdrawn from him, not just days before, but centuries before? Had it all been an attempt to protect him, to hide the older elf's desires from his son? Had the night of the feast, kissing him, speaking words of love to him, been a slip up?

This couldn’t be true.

And did his father truly think he'd filled his son's head with desire for the forbidden? Had he? If he was honest with himself, Legolas couldn't be sure, but he didn't think so.

In the end though, even if his father and king had somehow condemned him to this fate, it didn't matter to him, not if his father loved him in return. For, if so, then nothing else mattered.

Then, making Legolas unable to breath, his father lowered his head and kissed him so softly. He was so glad for the support as he felt his legs give. Then the elf withdrew with a slight groan and whispered, "You have your freedom, iônneg. Save yourself. Do not allow yourself suffer my fate."

The words made Legolas want to laugh and cry at the same time. Didn't his father have any idea how much he'd wanted this, wanted to be in his arms? But then Thranduil pulled away from him and stalked down the hallway the way they'd both come, leaving him alone once again. Leaving him far worse than he'd been minutes before.

Worse, as now Legolas truly did have hope, however ill-conceived that hope was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iônneg - my son  
> Adar - father  
> Meleth nîn - my love


	3. Chapter 3

Blood had been spilled in every street.  Weeping filled the air.  It had been a massacre on both sides. Fires of dead orcs blazed throughout the dilapidated city, lighting up the coming night, making finding the fallen elves and humans a bit easier in the impeding darkness of narrow streets.

Seeing the devastation with tears in his eyes, nausea in his gut, and rage in his heart, Legolas couldn't leave just yet.  Instead, into the night, he helped his kin move their fallen onto stretchers and wagons which took them into the elven encampment to await their return home for burial in Mirkwood. 

Adding to the body count, any orc or goblin body Legolas saw so much as twitch, he immediately took its life with a plunge or slash of his dagger.  There would be no more death on his side, at least not at the hands of the enemy, if he could help it.  He couldn't speak for the wounded and their fate.

He never saw his father during this, but surely the king made sure their people, who had given their lives for him and their kin, were taken care of, even if he didn't work his own hands.

On a barren street, him seeking someone to help or bring home, a hand just barely gripped his shoulder, stopping him.  He hadn't even heard the person approach, so lost in himself. 

"My Lord, take your rest.  Nothing more can be done this night.  We'll start on the battlefield tomorrow.  Your father's tent is near the center of the camp." 

Legolas looked at the exhausted elf archer, noting the dark circles under his eyes and his flushed skin, and then let his eyes drift over the length of the street which was now free of bodies.  His emotions seesawing in every direction, he nodded.  Silent footsteps took him out of the city.

The elf encampment spread out in all directions on the flat land next to the lake, but it was considerably smaller than it should have been. The stench of dead, burning bodies behind him made him more than glad to leave the city behind.

Nodding back to solemn nods, the prince made his way through the area that would be the elves' home for the night and perhaps the next, depending on how long it took them to account for every soul and stabilize their wounded. 

When he entered his father's tent, he saw that it was empty.  With no guards outside, he hadn't expected his father to be there.

Inside, it was luxurious, although the furnishings only hinted at a mere drop of the wealth of their kingdom.  The bed, with a frame that could be collapsed in a minute or two, was overlaid in thick covers and pillows.  A large wooden table was lined with a map and papers, the tent doubling as his father's war room.  On the far side was a filled bath.  The liquid looked too inviting to resist. 

Legolas walked to it and touched the scented water.  It was cool, probably draw an hour or two before at least, but it was better than nothing. 

Trying not to think about the fact that his father had surely used this water, he stripped off his armor and clothing and then slipped inside, sucking in a breath as the water chilled him, drawing in his groin.  He dunked his head, and then, with the cloth hanging on the edge, worked on scrubbing off the blood, grime, sweat, and stink of orcs and goblins.

When the scrubbing felt like it was causing more pain than bringing good, he crawled his stiffening body out of the metal tub, draped himself in his father's damp, heavy robe, trying to find warmth.  A lost cause, he then climbed into the bed and wrapped himself in the covers.  He shivered for several minutes until the heat of his body accumulated. 

Then, laying there, the events of the day played over and over again in his unwilling mind like a forsaken chant: the battles, the loss, the moments with his father. 

His father never came inside the tent.  The passing of time became vague before uneasy, exhausted sleep claimed him.

Still dark outside, he awoke to a shifting of the covers.  He turned his head and saw his father's face near his own in the dim lamplight.  Despite his beauty, Thranduil looked no better than Legolas felt.  The elf's long body curved against his own, as his father had done countless times when Legolas' childhood dreams had terrified him.  If only he'd known as a child what real terror was, he wouldn't have fled to his father's comforting arms, although perhaps he would have found another reason to do so.

Back then, Legolas' body had barely covered the expanse of the larger elf's chest.  Now...  Now their bodies fit together all too well.  And with the tightness his father held him, it felt like Thranduil was seeking comfort more than he was trying to give it to his son.

"Go back to sleep, iônneg," his father whispered.

Legolas tried to obey, turning back to face the cloth wall of the tent, but his eyes wouldn't close.  Eventually, his father's breaths evened out as sleep overtook him.  When it did, the younger elf found his hand touching his father's bare arm.  The flesh was so heated, it left him wishing he hadn't worn the robe to bed.

"Ada?" the prince whispered, a breath.

Nothing.  He wanted to turn onto his back to look at him, but with his father's body against his own, that surely would have woken the elf up.  It was bad enough one of them couldn't sleep, let alone both of them.  Nonetheless, he couldn't help bringing the heavy hand to his lips, kissing it.

"Why must I leave you?  The last thing in this world I want is to do just that," the younger elf admitted to his sleeping king, "Even while some part of me tells me I must." 

A smile crept through his sadness at the memory of what he'd said to Tauriel days before. "Would you believe I told Tauriel you have no ownership over my heart?  What a lie."

Eyes closing, Legolas sighed and the kissed the hand again.  Against it, he murmured, "And to think that you love me, that you want me as I want you...  Is there a greater gift?"

He didn't think so. 

The body behind him shifted without warning, stopping his heart, flashing open his eyes.  Then his heart burst when lips kissed the back of his neck.  His body shivered from something that had absolutely nothing to do with cold.

"You love not listening to me," Thranduil said against his skin.  "I told you to sleep."

How much of his whispered words had the elf heard?  Legolas feared all of it.  Thranduil had probably awoken the moment his son had taken up his hand.  But the younger elf didn't want to ask, since apparently his father saw it fit to ignore his words.

Knowing his voice would tremble, he nonetheless replied to his father's own words with, "How can I hope to sleep with you against me, adar?"

The hand he'd brought to his lips gripped his chin, pulling it around.  His father's mouth brushed against his own, them both staring into each other's heavily-lidded eyes. 

A groan came deep from the older elf's throat.  "I will leave you be and find another place to sleep."  And then his father tried to pull away, but Legolas was faster when he grabbed the large hand pulling away from his jaw.  Thranduil would have had to fight to get that hand back.

"You would leave me now, after what I said?"  Tears came again to Legolas' eyes.  "Is this how it will always be between us?"

"How could it be different, Legolas?  Do you forget who your father is?"

"As if I could ever forget who you are."  And did his father really have to ask how it could be different between them?  It would be so simple to make it different.  His father just had to be willing or, considering what Thranduil had said earlier that day, just had to allow himself to be willing.  "And, truly, how could it ever be the same between us, even if we wanted it to be?"

The king pulled his hand away again, and Legolas let it go.  If his father wanted to leave, he wouldn't stop him.  It wasn't his right.  Just as his father had never stopped him from doing what he truly wanted, whatever the older elf's disagreements and decisive consequences. 

However, instead of pulling away, Thranduil drew the robe off of his shoulder and kissed the skin there.  Legolas couldn't help his weak moan, his eyes closing.  He wouldn't even begin to imagine a more intimate contact, fearing a stiffening that might scare his father away.  Nonetheless, his groin stirred anyway, making his breaths quicken.

Perhaps his father was right.  Perhaps they shouldn't have been doing this.  Legolas feared it'd be the death of him, that his body wouldn't be able to take the pleasure of it.

"Gerich veleth nîn, iônneg," his father said against his skin.

Legolas pressed his lips together, tears and a smile battling.  "Gerich veleth nîn, ada."

Soft lips kissed his shoulder again, then he replaced the robe.  "Sleep, meleth nîn.  Let us remember what we lost this day.  Tomorrow..."

 _Tomorrow?_  

The tears won, falling silently onto the pillow below his head.  He couldn't do this.  Not when it tore his heart apart.  And there was nearly nothing left of it as it was.

_Tomorrow...  Tomorrow, I will be gone, ada..._

His king, his father pulled him close, so close he could scarcely breathe.  Sleep never claimed him again.  When sleep retook his father, however, and he turned away, Legolas slipped from the covers, redressed, and left the tent, just as daylight was breaking from the horizon.  He found his horse where he'd left it with the others, and rode north.

_I will come back, ada.  But not this day, nor tomorrow.  Rather on the day my heart has mended.  When I have the strength to be the son I should be, that you want me to be.  Until then, please forgive me for needing to leave you, meleth e-gûr nîn._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, I thought they were going to get more intimate, but it just wasn't the time. But I hoped you liked the story overall! It was sad though. ; ;
> 
> I will be making a series out of this and posting a new story that takes place years after this one. The next one will have explicit content, just as a warning. :)
> 
> Iônneg - my son  
> Adar - father  
> Meleth e-gûr nîn - love of my heart  
> Meleth nîn - my love  
> Gerich veleth nîn - you have my love  
> Ada - dad/daddy


End file.
